Gift of Hope
by DetectiveMinerva
Summary: Harry is feeling lost after Hermione is Petrified, but he finds the healing he needs from an unexpected source: Professor McGonagall, who is feeling every bit as lost and alone as he is. Together, they confront their fears and find the hope they thought they had lost. Sequel to "Gift of Gratitude."


Reuploaded! In this sequel to "Gift of Gratitude," Harry is questioning himself after Hermione is Petrified, wondering if his hope will ever be restored. He soon finds it renewed by an unexpected person: Professor McGonagall, who is feeling every bit as lost as he is. This was a fun chance to explore the mother/son relationship between McGonagall and Harry, and to delve into McGonagall's thoughts about the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

The ruby-red glow of the setting sun poured through the windows of the Gryffindor common room, striking the scarlet wall hangings and turning them a rich garnet. Normally, the cozy room would have been packed with Gryffindors at this time of the evening, some deep in conversation, some losing an eyebrow or two playing Exploding Snap, and some unfortunate procrastinators bent over their books, rushing to complete that nasty Potions essay and praying that Snape wouldn't take a dozen points from Gryffindor for the sporadic ink blots dotting the parchment.

No such luck these days. Since the most recent attack by the monster from the Chamber of Secrets, the Gryffindors had adopted the habit of an early bedtime, retreating to their dormitories in the hope of regaining some sense of safety and peace. But peace was little more than a stranger to them, for the monster's latest victim had been one of their own. Nobody felt like sitting on a soft, comfortable couch in front of a cheerful, leaping fire… nobody but one.

While the rest of Gryffindor House tossed in a fitful slumber, Harry Potter was wide awake, but not from within the confines of his dormitory. Rather, he was lying on the couch in his school robes, one arm thrust behind his head and the other resting on his stomach… and his bright green eyes melancholy as they gazed into the fire, at the tapestries on the wall, and up at the ceiling by turns. Exhausted from the previous night's excursion into the Forbidden Forest, Ron had retired to bed fifteen minutes ago, muttering about having seen "enough bloody spiders" to last him a lifetime – but Harry wasn't fooled. He knew that Hermione's petrification had hit Ron every bit as hard as it had himself, for Hermione wasn't just their best friend – she completed their trio. She was the cool logic that was the perfect counterpoint to Ron's deep emotion and the voice of reason that played to Harry's courage and heart. Without Hermione… he and Ron were nothing. And they didn't know how to unlock the secrets of the Chamber, so to speak, without her to guide them. But most of all, they missed _her. _Missed her encouragement, her steadiness, her love. Harry even missed that steely glint in her eyes that reminded him so much of…

Suddenly, the portrait of the Fat Lady opened with a creak that rent the silence of the common room and jolted Harry out of his reverie. His Quidditch reflexes kicking in, he sprang off the couch and whipped his wand out of his robes, holding it at the ready should the late entrant be the Heir of Slytherin or worse. But then the newcomer came into the light, and Harry sighed with relief when he recognized his Head of House. "Professor, you scared me!"

"Obviously," Professor McGonagall remarked, eyeing Harry's fighting stance and drawn wand, which was pointed right at her. "A bit jumpy, are we?"

"Yeah, but everybody is," Harry replied. "You can't be too careful, even in your own common room."

"That is true. But while I commend you for being so quick to defend yourself, Potter, you would be wise not to continue pointing that wand in my direction. I am no threat, unless you have some foolish desire to challenge me to a duel. In that case, I can assure you that I am a more formidable opponent than Mr. Malfoy – and a far more competent teacher than Professor Lockhart."

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, although he couldn't suppress a smile. _No arguments there, _he thought, lowering his wand. Dressed in sweeping robes of emerald-green velvet and a pointed black hat, Professor McGonagall looked every bit the elegant lady, but the elegance masked power. He hadn't seen her duel anyone, but based on the kind of magic he'd seen her perform in Transfiguration, Harry was ready to bet his Nimbus Two Thousand that she would leave an opponent a gibbering wreck after the smoke cleared. With a sincere "Sorry, Professor," Harry slipped his wand back inside his robes and drew himself up a little taller; he always felt smaller in her presence. "So, what brings you up here to Gryffindor Tower? I know you're head of Gryffindor, but I've hardly ever seen you in the common room."

"I'm returning Mr. Finnegan's Transfiguration book," Professor McGonagall said, holding up a slightly scorched copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. _"I managed to repair it, but as you can see, some scorch marks are still intact. I'm beginning to wonder if they're old ones from last year, to be honest."

Again, Harry grinned. Just that morning, Seamus Finnegan, who had garnered a pyromaniac's reputation around Hogwarts the previous year, had caused an uproar in Transfiguration. The class was supposed to turn figurines into birds, but Seamus mispronounced the spell and a fireball shot out of his wand, blasting the china figure in front of him to pieces and sending sparks raining down on his textbook, which promptly burst into flames and threatened to ignite the wooden desk as well. After Professor McGonagall doused the fire with a jet of water from her wand, she took fifteen points from Gryffindor for Seamus's negligence and gave him a withering glare that Harry was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of. One look from her was enough to make a man Hagrid's size quake in his boots.

"Seamus went up to bed about half an hour ago," Harry informed her. "Everybody did."

"So I noticed," Professor McGonagall said, her sharp eyes sweeping the common room, which was vacant save for Harry and herself. "Why so early? It's only sunset, for goodness' sake."

Any previous trace of a smile vanished from Harry's face. "The last attack hit everyone pretty hard. I mean, we were all scared that it might be one of us, but I don't think any of us thought it would be…" Harry swallowed at the memory of Hermione lying in the hospital wing, frozen in time like a flawless wax doll. "At least, Ron and I never thought…"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I know," she said, her voice so soft that Harry gazed up at her in amazement. "Potter, I'm just as upset about Miss Granger as you are. This whole ordeal has not been easy for me, either, especially now since Professor Dumbledore has been suspended."

A myriad of feelings swamped Harry all at once with the impact of those words. He knew how worried the students were, but he'd never considered Professor McGonagall's feelings about the attacks – probably because he rarely saw her express such emotion. She was always so stoic, so collected in a crisis, that Harry had long assumed that she had everything together. Only that morning, Professor McGonagall had officially stepped into the role of temporary headmistress, running Hogwarts in Dumbledore's absence, yet now Harry could audibly hear the worry in her voice. She was worried about the school and the students, even more so since the latest attack, but Harry had to wonder if something else was troubling her. But would she tell him, should he dare to ask? Probably not – she had always struck him as a deeply private woman. As it was, their relationship was strictly that of a student and teacher, not a friendship in the slightest. Yet Harry remembered one time last year, when he'd thanked her for her gift of his Nimbus Two Thousand and she had told him a story about his mother… and Harry had gotten his first real glimpse of Professor McGonagall's gentle side. And right here and now, in a moment when vulnerability was in its rawest form, that gentleness was all he saw. If there was ever a chance to talk to her, just talk, it was now.

"Professor McGonagall… I know I'm asking a lot, but…" Harry took a deep breath and looked at his shoes for a moment, "If you need to talk to someone… would you like to talk to me?" He continued to stare at the toes of his trainers, feeling like an idiot for daring to ask such a presumptuous question and waiting for her to snap at him for being so.

The reprimand never came. Harry felt Professor McGonagall's hand cup his chin and tilt his head upward, so he would meet her gaze. To his great surprise, her piercing blue eyes were filled with a tenderness Harry had never seen before, and her face was alight with a warm smile. "Your mother once asked me the very same question," she said, her eyes gazing into his; sapphire into emerald. "We had many wonderful conversations, she and I. If you can keep a confidence as well as she could – and as her son, I trust you can – I would love to talk to you." She nodded in the direction of the couch. "Shall we sit down?"

Almost too stunned to speak, Harry managed to offer a "Sure" in reply. Once he and Professor McGonagall were seated on the couch, though, he had regained both his senses and his voice. "So, um… what's on your mind, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall sighed. "I just don't know how I can be so powerful and so helpless all at once."

"Helpless? You?" Harry asked in shock. Of all the words he would have used to describe Minerva McGonagall, _helpless _was not one of them. "How?"

"Potter… I am Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Do you understand what that means?"

"Of course I do. You're second in charge; you help Professor Dumbledore run Hogwarts."

"And should he be absent at any time, it is my duty to oversee Hogwarts in his stead. I've done it before, but never under circumstances like this. A headmaster or headmistress's job is to watch over and protect the students, but how can I even begin to protect them when I don't know what this… _monster _is?" Harry couldn't help cringing a little at the anger in her voice as she spat out the word _monster, _her Scottish accent making it sound even more like a growl. "I am a Transfiguration mistress and an Animagus besides, yet I am powerless to defend everyone and everything I hold dearest." Professor McGonagall reached under her hat and massaged her temples. "You must think me a cowardly old woman for saying such things."

Impulse taking over and thinking of nothing except the fact that she felt as lonely and helpless as he did at that moment, Harry reached out and laid his hand over the back of hers, slipping his fingertips under to clasp it gently. "I've never thought that for a second, not even now. Professor McGonagall, you're probably the bravest woman I've ever met. I don't think any of the other teachers would've had the guts to take over Hogwarts after the last attack, knowing that another attack could happen at any time. Even if you don't know what the monster is and even if you can't see it, you're still showing the students that you're willing to protect them just by taking Professor Dumbledore's place. If we didn't have anybody in charge of Hogwarts, we'd all be dead, and you know it."

For a moment, Harry thought Professor McGonagall was going to cry, but she swallowed it and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Spoken like a true Gryffindor," she said, pride shining in her eyes.

Harry, however, felt somewhat less than proud. "I don't know about that, Professor. I feel helpless myself."

"Because of Miss Granger?"

Harry nodded. "And because of…" Here he shrugged and lowered his eyes once more. "Well, you've probably heard about what happened at the Dueling Club." Her silence answered his question, so he continued on. "And you probably know what everyone's been saying about me. Professor, I'm not the Heir of Slytherin; I can't be. I'm in _Gryffindor_; I'd never attack anyone, and I'd resign from the Quidditch team before I hurt Hermione. I'm just scared. What if I'm not meant to be a Gryffindor?"

"Harry Potter, look at me right now."

The sudden sharpness of Professor McGonagall's voice made Harry jump, yet he looked up into her eyes without question. Her gaze was fierce, protective, and tender all at the same time. "You just told me that you never thought I was a coward. Let me tell you right now that I have never once thought that you were anything but a good, loving, and selfless boy. Your parents were the kindest people I have ever known, and I knew them both _very _well – your mother in particular. As warm, generous, and compassionate as Lily was, how could you be anything else? You're more like her than you realize."

Harry's heart began to rise. "You think so, Professor?"

"I know so. Not meant to be a Gryffindor; bite your tongue. Potter, true courage does not come from suppressing your fear. It comes from admitting it. We find our real strength by admitting our shortcomings, and from that strength comes hope."

Harry's next smile had a drop of bitterness in it as he thought of his absent friend. "What about Hermione? Professor, I'm not worried about her pulling through; I know she will. I'm worried about Ron and me going on without her. She's the one who holds us together and keeps us from making the wrong decisions all the time, and she calms us down whenever something bad happens... like now." He sighed. "We need her."

Harry felt Professor McGonagall's hand tighten around his, her long fingers gently enveloping his palm. "She needs you too, to hope for her. Potter, no matter what happens, don't give up hope that this will end. I almost gave up myself, until someone gave my hope back to me." She suddenly smiled. "I hope I've returned the favor."

The setting sunlight seemed to glow a little brighter as Harry realized that his hope had indeed returned. Tomorrow, he was going to tell Ron that they were still going to solve the mystery of the Chamber, as Hermione would have wanted, but tonight, here and now... he found himself grateful for the gift of hope that Professor McGonagall had given him. "I think you did."

They sat in silence for a moment or two until Professor McGonagall gave his hand a pat and rose from the couch; Harry followed suit. "Well... I should be going."

"Already?"

"Even I have to sleep, Potter. The nocturnal traits of my Animagus form do not affect my human state, contrary to popular belief." The corners of her mouth turned upward briefly at Harry's snicker. "Good night... and thank you."

Another sudden impulse struck Harry and he cried out to her just as she was crossing the room to the portrait hole. "Wait!"

Professor McGonagall stopped in her tracks and turned to face him again. "Yes, Potter?"

Later Harry would not be able to tell if what he did next was crazy or not. All he knew at the time was that he wanted to thank Professor McGonagall for having faith in his goodness and restoring his hope... and he did it in the way his mother would have, as he remembered from a story long ago. He strode across the room and threw his arms around her shoulders, whispering a heartfelt "Thank you" in her ear as he hugged her tight.

Professor McGonagall didn't say anything, but a soft "Oh" and a warm pair of arms returning his hug told Harry that she had accepted his thanks with all of her heart, the sunset light enveloping them in a glow as warm as the hope that had restored their faith.


End file.
